


What Kind of Day Has It Been

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Series: Tango Series [9]
Category: 30 Rock
Genre: Banter, Conflict, Crack, F/M, Het, Love, Politics, Romantic Comedy, Series, Television, Walk and Talk, Writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:51:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Liz, as interpreted by channeling Aaron Sorkin. Because nothing screams class like doin’ shrooms and walk-and-talks. Part of the series, but you can read it separately.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Kind of Day Has It Been

The peace that had reigned over TGS with Tracy Jordan since the notorious Jack/Liz hook-up of early ’08 had to come to an end. Everyone knew it would have to end someday; Lutz was running a pool on when Liz was going to run screaming for ABC after Donaghy took it too far. Granted, it was a second-level game compared to “did it or not last night?” played every morning (and apparently, given the did it to not ratio, Donaghy intended to wear that ass out before driving her off), but it was something all the writers knew. The peace was temporary.

And it came crashing down with, “Lemon, you cannot do the sketch. End of discussion, end of story. Bat something else out, kid.”

The sketch in question had been the funniest one they’d done in ages, a huge anti-Huckabee riff that had pointed out that Mike Huckabee was, in fact, crazy as hell. No punches pulled, and of course, it had mentioned that Huckabee’s Jesus was kind of a fascist. But Liz had been absolutely nitpick-y about the facts. Nothing Huckabee hadn’t actually said could be used in the sketch. They’d had to ice it two weeks running because it hadn’t been factual enough to submit.

“Right,” Liz said. She was drumming her fingers on the table. “Bat something else out. We polished this until it shone. Fascist theocrats might become president, bat something else out, kid.”

“We have the Bill Clinton vs. Michelle Obama First Lady Smackdown ready to go,” Sue said.

“No,” Liz said, looking off into space. “I want honesty from the table. Who thinks the Huckabee sketch is good?”

“Everyone,” Frank said. “You know we’re behind Hucksterbee’s, Liz. But it did get pretty fucking spiked by Donaghy.”

“Can it be backed by,” and Liz paused. “You guys get what’s going on, right? This is not about my personal life. For once. This is about doing something funny that also happens to need to be said.”

The table was dead silent. Nobody actually knew what to say. Not even Frank, who was usually the writers’ go-to in terms of saying things to Liz that needed to be said.

“Your personal life and your job kind of get screwed up if you put the skit on the air, right?” Cerie asked from the couch.

“Yes, thank you, Cerie,” Liz said, half-hissing the words. “But I’m asking everyone, should we back down to put on another Divisive Dems segment that pleases Corporate?”

“Are you and Mr. Donaghy having a fight about anything else?” Cerie ventured, clearly not sure if she was allowed to say this.

“No, we’re actually just having our usual problems,” Liz said. “I don’t think this is a symbolic gesture of proving that I’m independent from Jack and his insidious control of everything ever. But that’s why I put this to you guys, because I could be doing that and I’m not going to wreck anyone else’s week over my man problems.”

Everyone was still quiet as heck. “I feel like we’ve fallen into an episode of a Sorkin show,” Toofer asked, earning a rueful chuckle from the group. “McCain’s going to get the nod anyway. It’s not like this matters. Or is at all funny.”

“We’ll see,” Liz muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t think this should be spiked.”

“Does Jack think you’ll take it?” Frank asked. “Being that you two are…”

“Can this be about the sketch and not me and Jack?” Liz asked plaintively. “I’m probably going to be fighting about this with him for a month no matter what choice we make. That’s fine. But I’m still on the Sorkinesque dilemma — sock it to Huckabee, or have Josh tear a wig off Tracy?”

“That’s pretty hard, Liz,” Sue said. “Could you give us until after lunch to talk this out? Possibly without you?”

Liz nodded, looking distracted and a little grim. “Sure. I think we should back the sketch,” she said, drumming the tabletop. “For the record. But I’ll respect the table on this.”

The table nodded slowly. Liz stood up, taking deep breaths. “One thirty?” she asked.

“Sounds good,” Toofer said.

Liz nodded, walked to her office, retrieved her laptop, and actually left the room and a bunch of squirming writers in her wake as the door closed behind her.

“Damn,” Frank said. “I knew Donaghy wouldn’t stay whipped for long. You think this is for real, or that he’s doing it to screw with Liz?”

Lutz shrugged. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Frank said. “If it’s some proof of manhood thing, we can send Liz up in a bikini to make it up to him later. He’ll get over it. If this is corporate, we could all lose our jobs.”

“I’m not going anywhere in a bikini!” Liz shouted, muffled by the door.

“Go to lunch, hag!” Sue shouted. Only girls were allowed to snap on Liz like that, which had baffled Lutz, but that was the rule. “Jeez, she is going nuts about this.”

“I think she means it about the sketch,” Cerie said, shifting uneasily. “Liz thinks it’s really important we don’t nominate this Huckster guy.”

“True,” said Toofer. “On the other hand, we’re not The Daily Show.”

“On the third hand, it’s a fucking hysterical sketch,” Frank said. “Dude, if it were just on the basis of funny and good, I vote for the skit.”

“But it’s also,” said Rachel, “On the basis of slamming on Christians. Which does tend to upset people here in America.”

“Huckabee is crack-addled,” Frank said. “Dude wants to institute a thirty percent sales tax instead of income taxes to benefit the rich.”

“Do we have to do the Huckabee pros-and-cons again?” asked Lutz. “I mean, the question is why did Liz decide to nail Huckabee? Ron Paul was right there, complete with crazy fans on the Internet, but Liz went after the Baptist minister.”

“Ron Paul isn’t going to get a VP nod,” said Toofer. “Huckabee might.”

Long silence at the table, broken only by the sound of the new guy tapping his pencil back and forth like a really annoying tap dancer. Toofer took the pencil and broke it, ending the noise.

“New direction,” Sue said. “Why _is_ Donaghy spiking the sketch? We know he’s pro-Romney. He’s not an evangelical Christian, as that was like, on the ‘Top Ten Reasons I Won’t Date Your Friend’ list that Liz delivered to us long before Donaghy showed up. He’s your typical rich conservative asshole who thinks it’s quaint we peasants care about abortion and health care. And Jesus-bashing is in among his type if Ann Coulter is doing it.”

“Maybe he just likes being a douche,” the new writer suggested. “Is he really as crazy as everyone says? Donaghy, I mean.”

“Kid — what’s your name again?” Frank asked.

“Um, Quinn Garcia,” new guy volunteered.

“Okay, Irish Tino,” Frank said. “I have partied with Jack Donaghy, long before he settled on our head writer WHO SHOULD MAKE SURE SHE’S NOT EAVESDROPPING. That dude is all you can imagine and worse.”

Irish Tino nodded, seemingly unfazed by his casual renaming to something that was probably ethnically insensitive at best.

“You should call him and ask why he did it,” Cerie said. “Mr. Donaghy can be really nice sometimes.”

Writer heads all swiveled, pretty much in unison. “When’s that?” Sue asked.

“Just sometimes he is. I have to call up and cancel dates and meetings and stuff,” Cerie said with a lazy shrug. “I asked him once if he really liked Liz, because she isn’t super-fashionable and sometimes wears sweaters with food on them. Plus she cancels a lot.”

“What did he say?” Lutz asked.

“Oh, it was really weird,” Cerie replied. “He said, ‘Cerie, the iconography of Eros is that of a blind archer, whose red-tipped arrows fly with a gleeful disdain for any niceties of society. The bastard has certainly succeeded in lodging his missile deep in me. But perhaps with less homoerotic undertones.'”

The entire writers’ room at TGS cracked up. And for the most part hoped that Liz had stopped listening at the door, because that was way too much for her to overhear at once.

“That’s sweet,” Sue said. “Cerie, can you do us a big favor and call Jack?”

“Okay,” Cerie said languidly, getting up. “What should I ask him?”

“Tell him that Liz is super-upset about the sketch, and we want to know why he spiked it,” Lutz said. “Could we ask if they did it or not last night? I totally couldn’t figure it out.”

“No,” said Sue, Toofer, and Irish Tino.

Cerie looked a little disappointed about that as she pulled out her phone and started to dial.

* * *

“You won’t tell me why you’re actually here, except that you’re giving your writers some freedom, and I’m not supposed to be suspicious?” Jack asked Liz, who was camped out on his couch with her laptop.

“Also, my boss sucks,” Liz said. “Boyfriends are usually good at listening and sympathizing about how bosses suck in normal relationships. They also kind of want to know things like the thing I just told you. Also, I have an extremely evil-ass boss who makes pronouncements from on high, let me tell you, Jack. You ever have a boss like that?”

“That’s emotional blackmail, Lemon,” Jack began. Liz held up a hand. “Excuse me. Liz.”

“Thank you,” Liz said. “As we’ve agreed that my boss and your employee are not here at the moment, I don’t need to hear my last name from you, Jack. Not under the circumstances.”

They were waiting on some heart healthy take-out, as Liz had found a crumpled sheet that had informed her that Jack needed less steak and more salad unless she wanted to do some emergency contact duty. And she could definitely use some healthy cuisine today.

Neither of them was looking forward to it, of course.

“It’s still emotional blackmail. Unless you want to hear about a crybaby employee of mine who won’t accept that she’s written a rant that insults a very vocal minority of American society with the sympathy of the majority of Americans,” Jack replied.

“Oh, you have a crybaby employee?” Liz asked. “How awful for you. I bet the work was shoddy and half-assed, to boot.”

“No, the crybaby’s rant is hysterical, biting, and on-target. All things that inflame the vocal minority even more,” Jack said. “These people protest and boycott. Do you want to get hit with protestor signs, Liz?”

“Vice President Huckabee, Jack,” Liz said. “Besides, I think my evil-ass boss isn’t blocking a funny skit because his corporate overlords mind. I think my boss is asserting his manliness, which irritates me, because the skit is not about my boss or his power. I mean, how much does that suck?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Liz, did you rewatch _every_ episode of Sports Night this weekend?” he asked.

“It would be awesome if Robert Guillaume was my boss,” Liz said, smirking slightly as Jack’s phone went off. “He would support my sketch.”

“Do you know why Aaron Sorkin smokes crack?” asked Jack. “Because you’d need it to even imagine a world where a real executive made half the decisions Guillaume did. Hello, Jack Donaghy.”

He paused. “I need to take this privately,” Jack told Liz, who sighed, picked up her laptop, and walked out. Jonathan was sitting there, giving her the stink-eye.

“Don’t start with me,” Liz said. “My day is already bad enough.”

“I wasn’t going to. I have some modicum of professionalism,” Jonathan said snippishly. “For instance, I’m not eavesdropping on my boss’s conversation with my employees.”

Liz snorted. “What? I am waiting for my delicious healthy lunch,” she said patiently. “Believe it or not, people who are dating like to eat together. Plus, I paid. I’m not not eating when I paid.”

“Whatever, because you couldn’t afford to skip a meal or anything,” Jonathan snipped.

“Jonathan, why don’t you, I don’t know, ask Kenneth out or something?” Liz asked.

“Because Kenneth is five years, a disastrous starter wife, two tearful come-to-Jesus relapses and several drunken encounters with Devon away from being ask out material, thank you very much,” Jonathan said even more nastily. “What, do you think I’ve never thought about it?”

“Calm down, Smithers,” Liz replied, tilting her head. “You just seem like you could use a date. Oh my God, I just said that. Wow. Wow, that happens fast.”

Jonathan had his shocked bitchy gay face on, too. “Yeah, I can’t believe I heard that from the woman who got ham juice on a four thousand dollar wedding dress she’ll never wear,” he said. “You’re not going to freak out and run away with a Floyd any time soon, are you?”

“I’m waiting for salad,” Liz said pointedly.

Jonathan looked aside glumly. “Damn,” he said. “It’s serious.”

“More than you could imagine,” Liz said. The door to Jack’s office opened, and he looked down at Liz. “What?”

“Are you going to do the sketch I spiked?” he asked. “I just got off the phone with your assistant, who seems convinced that you want to do Hucksterbee’s and have put it to a vote of your writers.”

Oh, _damn it._

“Did they vote yes?” Liz asked, swallowing.

“I didn’t ask — Lemon, is this some half-witted attempt to demonstrate that you have artistic integrity despite our relationship’s increased seriousness?” Jack asked.

“No, this is because the sketch is good, and it didn’t deserve to be spiked. Every last word of that sketch can be sourced,” Liz said, standing up. “Not everything I do is because of you.”

The delivery guy arrived at that moment, the kind of baby-faced perky guy that kind of made Liz want to hit people. “Salad Days here for Liz Lemon?” he asked.

“Yeah, yeah, give me a minute,” Liz said, pulling her wallet out. “Now, this I’m doing because of you. And so help me god, you say something about my ass, I will do the sketch myself. Naked.”

Jack snorted. “With your nudity hangups?” he inquired mildly. “I’d pay to see that.”

Salad Days delivery guy choked, even as Liz slapped twenty bucks into his hand — twenty bucks for two salads and one giant organic tea, for flerg’s sake — and then handed him a five for tip.

“I am going to eat this somewhere else, because you are being both a crappy boyfriend and a crappy boss and I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Liz said, taking her crunchy duck a l’orange salad from the bag and glaring as the delivery boy escaped.

“That’s perfectly fine with me,” Jack said in his Jack-voice.

“Good, I’m glad,” Liz said, rolling her eyes, taking her salad, and doubling back to get a fork.

* * *

Jonathan had called Cerie before Liz had fully left Donaghy’s hallway, to inform the writers that Liz and Donaghy had had the mother of all fights, Liz had declared Donaghy a crappy boss and boyfriend, and she was probably pouting somewhere with a duck salad.

Actually, the writers discovered, Liz was very calmly eating her lunch onstage. She looked pretty relaxed for someone who was in trouble with her high-powered boss/boyfriend due to writer stupidity.

“Did you really threaten to do the sketch naked on-stage?” Frank asked.

“Yep,” Liz said. “And Jack really did say that I wouldn’t, because I have nudity hang-ups.”

There was a group cringe, because that was definitely a line right there.

“Well, don’t you?” Cerie asked.

“I do,” Liz said.

“Tracy probably knows a guy who can have him killed, or at least beaten up,” Lutz suggested. “Or you could have Josh and Jenna do it.”

Liz shook her head. “Nope, no need,” she said. “So did you find out why Jack won’t do the skit?”

“He hates Josh’s Huckabee impression and says it ruins the writing,” Toofer volunteered. “Also that Geiss thinks the show is out of control and said Jack needed to spike one of the skits.”

“Okay,” Liz says. “And what did you guys decide?”

“Run the skit, Liz,” Frank said. “We’re behind you. Pete’s with us, too.”

Liz nodded, still surprisingly calm and blank-faced for someone fighting with her boyfriend, defying the network, and other things that usually made Liz fray at the edges.

“What’s up with you being super-calm?” Lutz asked. “By now, you’re usually freaking out.”

“I know,” Liz said. “However, Jack expects me to fight with him, or cold open with the skit this week, to hell with the consequences. But I won’t. In fact, we’re doing it late next Friday, after the musical guest. So prep Bill vs. Michelle for this week.”

“All right,” Frank said. “But you are weirdly calm about the situation.”

“It’s been a very surreal day,” Liz said. “Like Toofer said earlier, it’s like we’re in the Sorkin-verse, but with less drugs. Though I really could go for some crack right now. Or shrooms. I hear shrooms are awesome.”

“You hear wrong, Liz Lemon. Shrooms only make the taco people talk smack to you,” Tracy said. “What’s going on out here? Are we going to do the forbidden sketch that makes Jack Donaghy angry? Can I be a Jedi in it?”

Tracy was always good for breaking up the tension in any situation, especially when he brought up things like the taco people, because you never knew if he meant people who sold tacos or tacos who were people or what.

* * *

Jack was waiting outside Rockefeller Plaza. Not with flowers, not waiting to apologize, just outside, waiting, because Jack always knew everything. Liz held a single hand up in a semi-wave.

“What did your writers decide?” Jack asked.

“That’s their business,” Liz replied. “Am I fired?”

“Probably not,” Jack said. “Josh is an awful Huckabee.”

“He’s fine, and _probably not?_ ” Liz asked, snorting. “That’s nice.”

Jack shrugged. “You’re not denying Josh sucks as Huckabee.”

“I’m also not telling you what the writers decided,” Liz said. “Suck it up, suit.”

“And that other thing,” Jack said. “You know, before we got into the fight about your idiotic display of temperamental political nonsense. Where do we stand?”

“Not an issue,” Liz said, shaking her head and sighing with relief. “We are safe from the other thing. The other thing went pop this afternoon. Thank God.”

“You’re doing the skit,” Jack said.

“Next week, late in the episode,” Liz agreed.

They stood there, staring at each other nervously.

“Tracy needs to set something on fire,” Jack said.

“So much, yes,” Liz agreed. “I need out of the Sorkin-verse now. It’s full of awkward pauses and no humor.”

Jack nodded. “Did you know I’m placing bets via Lutz in the writers’ ‘Did It or Not?’ pool?” he asked.

Liz snorted a half-laugh. “Lutz? Lutz has no sex-dar,” she said. “Grizz is winning most days.”

“Really?” Jack asked. “Well, goes to show you.”

He paused. “Maybe we could call my mother,” Jack suggested.

“I thought if you invoked Colleen, she appeared. Like Bloody Mary,” Liz said. “But hey. If it works…”

Jack’s phone rang just as Liz trailed off. “Colleen,” he answered it. “Call in some old debts Satan owes you for sucking out the souls of your children?”

There. Better. Much less dramedy. 


End file.
